


the house

by ayendae



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Writing Exercise, could be stranger things if you squint at it from the right angle, not really anything much - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 21:07:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21595393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayendae/pseuds/ayendae
Summary: There was something wrong with the house.It had been empty for thirty-two years, and something was wrong with the house.
Kudos: 2





	the house

The street of the cul-de-sac was cracking, lined with houses. The house was in that part of the country where the air is chill and sour, and where the mists obscure anything further than ten feet away. But while the other houses tried to deflect the dreary air with bright coats of paint and artificial flowers, this particular house seemed to draw in the mist and cold and exhale it back out again. Cars that drove by always sped up a little, as though the vehicles themselves wanted to be as far away as possible from the great, bitter creature hunched in the yard.

The sidewalk was dirty and pockmarked, and kept away from the rest of the house by an iron fence with spires just high enough to impale someone’s neck if they were to trip in front of it. The gate opened with an angry, protesting scream, almost resisting before giving way suddenly and leaving whoever tried to open it tumbling face-first onto the mossy walkway. The yard itself was brown and green, slanted ever-so-slightly towards the house as though the house itself were weighed down with something. To walk towards the house would be to walk a little too quickly than preferred, giving the impression that the house was pulling you in. Here, tall, dead oaks and hissing pine trees obscured the grey sky above almost entirely, and seemed to muffle the sound of passing traffic. Not that there ever was much passing traffic--the town had been devoid of visitors for as long as anyone could remember, some sort of _feeling_ that seemed to press anyone who didn't belong away. 

The house itself was a two-story house, not too big and not too small, brick underneath chipped white board, and what probably once was a garage. But while the houses around it were well-maintained, this house was overgrown, chipping. The paint was white and flaking away like skin on a shingles patient. The front windows were boarded up, although one was broken off in a corner in a manner that suggested something had punched its way out from inside. The front door was boarded up as well, and, like the rest of the floor level, was covered in the black scrawling of graffiti, unwilling facial tattoos on the beast. KEVINS MOM IS A WHORE, somebody had decided would be an amusing message to the world. JEREMYDIA 2019 A&A, somebody else had written, with utter disregard for the fact that nobody else would understand what that meant.

DONT GO INSIDE, somebody else warned in bright red paint.

Once, a long time ago, there’d been people here. A family. Then, one night, the lights went out. Then back on. Then out again, on and out, on and out. There’d been a screaming, howling sound. The back windows blew out. And nobody ever set foot in the house ever again.

Four children had driven by on bicycles to see the damage, and had called two names. Nobody came out, and the children pedaled away after three hours of calling.

It had been thirty-two years since the house was last occupied.

And then, one day, the board on the front door fell down, and the door opened. Someone stepped out.

The only problem was, the person who had stepped out should have died thirty-five years ago.

**Author's Note:**

> if anybody thinks this ought to be a multi-chapter thing, let me know!  
> and happy thanksgiving!


End file.
